Fat. Naked. Dangerous.

October 30, 2013

Sorry for the radio silence, gang of 3 who still read my blog. It's hard to talk about, but I've been away for awhile, dealing with some personal issues that I wasn't sure I'd survive HAHAHAHAHAHAA just kidding, we worked like dogs to take a month off work from Sep 21-Oct 21 and I avoided the computer most of the time.

Anyway, lots of blah blah to share but the following snippet of conversation I heard this afternoon made me want to get back on the blogging horse and share it with you.

Our dog, Princess Emmeline Louise, has gotten slower and slower over the last year or so and currently, our "walks" consist of me standing around, waiting for her to continue her glacial pace and eavesdropping like a creeper on anyone unlucky enough to be stationary and yapping on our street.

Today, there were two young men doing some kind of yard work behind a hedge and the following was overheard by me:

Young Man 1: Man, I am SO hungry. I missed getting my McMuffin for breakfast.

Young Man 2: How come?

Young Man 1: Well, it was getting close to the cut-off time for breakfast and I was all "Should I just go to McDonalds right now? Or should I jerk off first and THEN go to McDonalds?"

Young Man 2: And it took so long that you missed McDonalds' breakfast?

Young Man 1: I've been distant lately. I really wanted to show me a good time.

August 06, 2013

Few people enjoy getting shit in the mail more than Katr. Every time I turn around, she's subscribed to some cool thing or other - Japanese candy every month, ephemera for card-making, Wired magazine...and it is pretty cute.

What's funny, though, is that Katr also abhors clutter, so finding places to stash all the cool things she gets in the mail can sometimes be a challenge.

Witness what happened when Katr signed up for Felissimo's 500 Hundred Pencils from Japan. When we first started getting these packets of 25 incredibly gorgeous pencils in the mail, I was all "These are cool but, uh...where are we going to keep them?"

Katr's initial suggestion was "Up your butt" but after doing some research, we found that you could get awesome display cases in which you could showcase your yummy pencils, like ART! Katr ordered the plexiglass display case with the promise that once we had the pencils, we'd have an amazing new art piece to put up in the office.

That was back in 2009. So, for almost four years, we've been storing 500 pencils and a display case in the office.

And last week, when Katr's brother Drtr was here, we finally got the thing up.

Side note: I am surprised and thrilled that my brother-in-law, Drtr, keeps showing up here for visits, given that every time he comes, we present him with a "Honey Drew" list (funny, because his name is Drew - alias REVEALED) of household chores that we don't want to do, like standing on chairs to change the lightbulbs and, as a special treat this visit, recaulking our shower. He is a golden god. Never leave us, Drtr.

First, we removed all of the packaging and set the pencils up on the table in the order in which they were received. I was all for mounting them in that order...until I saw them all laid out. It just didn't look...right.

That's when Katr threw caution to wind and started MESSING WITH THE PENCILS. I threw up in my mouth just a little.

It took nearly three hours of hemming, hawing, clenched sphincters and moving pencils around before we all agreed we'd gotten the right combination. Then began the painstaking "putting the pencils in the display" process. As we put them in, we recited their names reverently, in monk-like monotone:

"Rivulet."

"Mansard Gray."

"Bobby Shaftoe."

"Who the fuck is Bobby Shaftoe?"

"I don't know, that's what it says."

"Toasty Orange."

When it came time to mount the pencils on the wall, I made sure not to interfere. Katr and Drtr are like a well-oiled machine and I'm the idiot bird who gets caught in the gears. So I just sneaked in and took a photo at every stage instead. These photos aren't great but whatever, it's my blog so zip it.

All the light from the windows fuck these photos up but these pencils are pretty magnificent, gang. And now we have more room in our office! For the stuff. That Katr gets. In the mail.

May 15, 2013

My new-mom friend Chezza commented that my last post was juuuuust the right length for her attention span at the moment and I laughed and laughed. Congrats, Chezza! I am sure that you are already a kick-ass mom.

But seriously, back to me. Chezza's comment reminded me that I totally forgot this thing that I was going to post for Mother's Day.

Naturally, my mother gave me the greatest gift of all - LIFE!! But this past Solstice, she gave me a gift of almost equal value - a video of my first year or so on the planet, which she had lovingly had transferred from super 8 to DVD.

I was born in the 1970s, when documenting your child's every move on film was not so common. So this shit is GOLD!! I felt like a cat going through the mirror stage when I first saw it.

Because you are neither me, nor my mother, I'm not posting the entire 15 minute video of me holding my toes, running around in my diaper at the waterpark, learning how to play ball and generally being adorable in my Osh Kosh B'Gosh overalls (although I do enjoy how I look like a teeny tiny lesbian).

BUT I did want to share my favourite minute and a half of the video, because:

1. Look how gorgeous my mom is! She is still that gorgeous.

2. Look how much like Jesus my dad looks! He looks more like a koala bear now.

3. FUCK I hated that Winnie the Pooh snowsuit. And also, that sled. There's a soundtrack that's pretty funny as well.

April 17, 2013

Last night in the kitchen, I burst into tears because the cauliflower I was preparing for our evening meal was "insanely buggy".

(In my defense, this effing cauliflower WAS riddled with tiny bugs but by the time I was ready to give up on it, I'd already assiduously de-bugged two thirds of it and it felt dumb not to soldier on.)

Still, I don't think I was really crying about the cauliflower. I also burst into tears when, after a power outage on Monday, I couldn't figure out how to reprogram the goddamn clock on the effing microwave. (Also in my defense, neither could Katr.)

Between my own family sadness and all the other crazy shit going on in the world, it's been a pretty heavy week and a half all 'round. So while I may not be capable of Katr's eloquence, as demonstrated by her excellent post this week "Increasing our capacity for compassion", I thought I would try to focus this week's post on something equally life-affirming and, perhaps a little dirty.

Aw yeah, that's right - motherfuckin' GARDENING.

This year our upstairs neighbours and all around manly men Jaco and Jeea built each of the units in our triplex a huge planter box on the boulevard, so that we could take advantage of the sun there and grow some motherfuckin' lavender.

There are three of these babies on our boulevard now and people are impressed. They stop to look at the boxes. They check out all the plants. They ask us how the boxes got there and where the dirt came from.

It's been fun talking to neighbours who I've seen over the past three years but have never actually conversed with. I also hope that now that they know who lives here and that we are nice people who don't like to step in dog shit, they'll quit letting their dogs shit on our lawn.

Here's the dirty part:

There was a lot of dirt. Jaco ordered extra so that we would be able to fill the boxes, but then there was a LOT left over. Katr and I wiled away a sunny afternoon slowly moving this dirt, one bucket at a time, to various dirt-free areas on our collective property. Newsflash - dirt is heavy! You're welcome.

We decided to use our box mainly for herbs and poppies and a few below-ground items (radishes, scallions). My reasoning was that if someone wants to help themselves to a handful of herbs as they wander by, I'm fine with that - but if they take my tomatoes, it's a swift kick to the nutsack. Best to keep the tomatoes in the yard.

April 02, 2013

While I wasn't thrilled about the upcoming noise and endless dustiness, I WAS pretty thrilled to have an actual dwelling next door instead of a fire hazard hovel where skunks and badgers partied into the wee hours and then fought with raccoons outside our bedroom window. The developer, Ken, was very friendly and assured me that it would be finished in six months.

HAHAHAHAHAA!

Even then, I knew that was bullshit, but at first, I really thought he might make it. The initial digging and cement pouring and framing of the house went pretty quickly. I actually went out to take a photo of it every day, because I am a dork who is excited by creation! So here's a short little construction slideshow (if you can't see the damn slideshow, here's the set on Flickr):

Ken was SO zealous that we often heard him working well past the 8 p.m. city bylaw deadline for "construction work" and once, on a Sunday, we actually called the bylaw officer to shut 'im down, because IT'S THE LORD'S DAY. But he remained civil to us - in fact, one time, when I complained to him that our garbage didn't get picked up because one of his trucks was blocking the alley, he beetled over and put our garbage in his truck to take to the dump.

I liked Ken. And I wished him the best with his box-y house.

And then...I don't know what happened. But I know what was happening next door - big fat NOTHIN'. Maybe he ran out of money? Probably he ran out of money. For months on end, aside from a little random hammering after 5 p.m., there didn't seem to be anything going on at the house (inside OR outside). I stopped taking my daily photo back in September, because it was just the same damn photo. In the interim, here are the exterior developments I did not photograph:

1. They put tar-paper up.

Fast forward to March 2013. It's been a year! And it's still not finished. But I was still holding out hope that soonish there would be a sweet, modern-looking pad next door. Until last week, when it started to look like this:

Ugh.

I was excited when I saw the red flashing around the roof, because I love red. And I was also excited when I saw the dark blue panelling (on the ground floor - you can't really see it in this shot, because the 2-5-10 Home Warranty sign that's not tied down and likes to blow up and whap passerby in the face is in the way), because I thought it looked niiiice.

But I was not excited when a bunch of tiny rocks started pinging off our back windows last week and I came out to discover that instead of using that nice wood panelling all over the house, Ken has opted for incredibly ugly sort of pebbly stucco finish instead.

Oh, Ken. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY??? I'm sure it's just cheaper but it just looks so terrible, Ken!

I honestly don't know why I'm so distressed about Ken and his stucco decision. I'm thinking about it A LOT...just, way more than anyone should. And why?

It's not my house. I don't have to live there. I barely have to see it from my yard. I guess I'm just worried that prospective buyers will be as shallow as I am and won't want to live there either and then THE SKUNKS WIN.

March 19, 2013

I have always felt like a bit of a late bloomer in certain areas. Not in the boob areas, but more in the "youth experiences" areas that movies and tv tell us we should be experiencing. I was 26 the first (and only) time I ever got drunk enough to barf. I didn't go to a real indoor rock concert until I was 27. And while I've been a fan of many things - books, movies, bands, performers - I was never a screaming, crying fan, trying to get up to the front of the stage to see my idols up close. I never waited at the stage door to get anyone's autograph. I never swiped an ABBA turd.

While I do identify as a huge nerd, I am also very shy and don't wear my fanatical heart on my sleeve very often. In fact, I think I can count my legitimate fan grrrl experiences on one hand:

1. The time I got Simon Callow to autograph his book Love is Where It Falls (and subsequently hated the book SO HARD but can't get rid of it, because Simon Callow signed it).

3. The time we went to the first night midnight screening of the third Lord of the Rings movie (that one's on Katr).

4. The time we lined up with hundreds of kids outside the Van Dusen Gardens to get the last Harry Potter novel and I accidently took this photo of this random man, which is really hilarious to only me.

All this to say that it's been awhile - but I'm going to have to start counting my fan grrrl forays on TWO hands after this week and I am FAR too old to be this excited.

I got a copy of Cassandra Clare's YA fantasy novel The Clockwork Angel for Christmas a couple of years ago and found myself oddly, crazily twitterpated. It's the first book in a trilogy - the second book, The Clockwork Prince, came out last year and the third and final book, The Clockwork Princess came out out...TODAY. And you guys...I LINED UP to get it.

(Thanks to Katr for finding this photographic evidence of me in the line on Twitter. HAHAHA)

But that is not all - NO NO. I not only lined up to get the book, but I also lined up to get a wristband because next Tuesday night, Cassandra Clare is coming to Vancouver and because I have a wristband, she will SIGN MY BOOK ZOMG.

While I knew I was nerding out to get this book, I didn't initially plan to go to Chapters Metrotown super early to line up. There were 400 wristbands available, after all, plus:

"It's at 9:oo a.m.," I said to Katr. "Won't most kids be in school? Surely no one will be there."

"Uh...it's spring break," said Katr - quite gently, which was kind.

"Oh," I said, fear blooming like narcissus in the pit of my stomach. "I...oh."

Still, I planned to play it pretty cool and leave around 8 a.m. for the 9 a.m. opening. Then, at 7:15 a.m., while I was eating my breakfast, I saw on the Twitters that a line had already formed starting at 7 a.m. NERDS! I left at once, my breakfast unfinished. Katr wished me godspeed as I hurtled fatly out the door.

Sidenote: I hate the Metrotown Mall. Right after we moved here, Katr and I took a trip to Metrotown to buy some things for our apartment. We parked underground, did our shopping, came back down to the parking garage and then couldn't find our car. For HOURS. We were pretty sure the car hadn't been stolen - we quite literally could not locate where it had been parked in the first place.

As it turns out, this was largely on Metrotown, because there are two separate parking garages that do not connect with each other and one has a "yellow" section and one has a "gold" section. Do you know what colour "gold" paint looks like? FUCKING YELLOW, METROTOWN, YOU UNIMAGINATIVE FUCKS. We swore never to return.

But for The Clockwork Princess, I made an exception.

I got to the mall about 7:55 a.m. and was only 70 people from the front. SCORE!

I expected a long, boring wait in line fondling my iPhone and fielding questions like "Is one of these girls your daughter?" but the great thing about lining up for a book and a wristband is that everyone else in line is super into these books as well and there is SO. MUCH. TO. DISCUSS.

The Chapters was fully prepared for this fan onslaught - once the doors opened, we moved through the buying/squeeing process very efficiently and in no time at all, we were gathered just past the cash register to have our photos taken...with the book.

I don't know why I love this trilogy in particular so much but I DO, I DO love it. Maybe it's because it's set in Victorian times and I like things that are Victorian. I am seriously like a 13 year old with these books. I'm actually rereading the first two this week so I can really savour the last one - Cassandra Clare assumes that all of her readers are crazy fans and she doesn't waste time with expository nonsense in her books - everything picks up right where it left off and if you don't remember who the Magister is or what the deal was with Tessa's brother, too bad for you, idiot.

What's hilarious, though, is that while I LOVE the Infernal Devices series (those are the Clockwork ones), I've read Clare's first series, The Mortal Instruments (movie coming out this August!) and, even though it's set in the same Shadowhunter world, with some of the same characters, I thought The Mortal Instruments were no screaming Jesus. And I read them while blissfully happy and drunk in Mexico and still gave them only 3 stars, so that's saying something. I'm just passing this on, in case my nerdaciousness is contagious and you're thinking of checking these out. You're welcome.

Stay tuned for next week, when I return to Metrotown for...THE SIGNING.

January 30, 2013

It was a blustery Saturday morning. I had gotten Katr her coffee, the dog had been walked and I was just doing a little clean up in the kitchen before starting an omelette. A week of being too lazy to take out the garbage had taken its toll on "kitchen freshness" - so I decided to be industrious and take the bag out before starting to make breakfast.

I boodled out to the garbage enclosure. The first bin was full, so I had to step inside to deposit the bag. A gust of wind blew up and the door shut behind me.

Locking me in.

And there I was. Trapped in the roofless garbage area. In the rain.

Ballsack.

I rattled the door. One time, in our old apartment, I got locked out and I just sort of leaned on the door and the shitty doorjam splintered and I got back in. This technique did not work on the sturdy garbage area latch.

I wracked my brain. Hadn't this same thing happened to our neighbour Syvo not long after we moved into this place? Yes! What did she do? She had her phone! So she called me and I let her out!

I didn't have my phone.

Katr was home and knew that I'd gone out to the garbage area. But she also knows that I'm chatty as fuck and will often wile away half an hour talking to various neighbours, rubbing their dogs and hearing about their old people health problems. I knew she'd come look for me...eventually. But until then...huh.

You'd think after three years, I'd be more careful about getting locked into the garbage area. But the thing is that we usually keep a padlock on the latch, which, when opened to admit access to the garbage area, prevents the latch from closing all the way.

I'd taken the padlock off earlier in the week, when the weather was below freezing and the lock became very difficult to open. Maybe getting trapped in the garbage area was some kind of karmic payback for having a lock on that latch to begin with.

The padlock on the garbage area makes me feel like a bourgeois asshole. Like I'm saying to the people who want to go through our garbage "Our caviar garbage is too fancy for you, riff raff."

But the reality is that the people who go through our garbage are the reason we had to put the padlock on, because they would go in there and rip through the garbage bags and leave all the garbage strewn around, so that at 6:30 a.m. on rainy Monday morning, I would have to pick all of our fucking garbage up and put it in the bins AGAIN before dragging the bins into the alley. Not cool.

Also, we were pretty sure that drunk people were fucking in there on weekends. Which is surprising, because it's not super sexy in there. I would know. Being trapped and all.

The walls of the enclosure are too high to see over, so I started jumping up periodically to see if anyone was around. Our neighbour isn't a high action place but there's usually SOMEONE wandering around, walking their dog, smoking or having a shouty cell phone conversation with their ex. I tore a flap of cardboard off a box and started waving it around over the door, just in case someone in the apartment building opposite saw and came to investigate. I alternated waving and jumping. Nada.

About fifteen minutes in - just as I was thinking about adding a screaming sound to my jumping and waving efforts - my other neighbours Jaco and Kich emerged from their back door on the second floor - which looks directly into the garbage area. I have never been so happy to see them - and was also filled with gratitude that we have the kind of nice, friendly neighbours who will let you out of the garbage area instead of asshole neighbours who would ignore you for weird, vindictive reasons. They laughingly sprung me from the garbage enclosure.

Giddy with freedom, I boodled back to the loving arms of Katr, all the while imagining how Danny Boyle would film my story. It would probably be pretty artsy.

The padlock is back on the latch...but there is also a new addition, thanks to handy upstairs neighbour Je(I don't know his last name). After hearing about my fifteen minutes of incarceration, he called to tell me that he's rigged the latch with a wire that's attached to a nail on the inside of the enclosure, so that if anyone gets trapped in there again, they can let themselves out. He didn't call it an "idiot string" - but I do.

January 07, 2013

Happy New Year! Since the world didn't end, I guess it's back to the blogging. I hope you all had lovely holidays, filled with family, friends, food and Furtles!

We got a little more snow than usual this year and got to witness the hilarity of Vancouver drivers trying to maneuvre their ultimate driving machines through the drive-thru at the Tim Hortons. Sadly, we also had to go out driving in the snow to deliver our Presents of Peace to the family we sponsored through the YWCA. We were like two fat lady Santas, getting lost in blizzard-bound Coquitlam with Rudolf the Red Nosed Shar Pei in the back seat keeping us warm with her emissions. But, just like Santa, the gifts were delivered and then we had cookies! Generosity and white-knuckle driving was a great way to kick off the holidays.

Nobody here owns a shovel.

While I'm super bitter that the holidays have now ended, there is one thing that removes the sting: it's resolution time, guys!! Wooo! I LOVE making resolutions when the year is new and minty fresh. I realize that resolution-making has kind of fallen out of vogue among the hip and logical and to them I say YOU'RE DEAD INSIDE. It's a new YEAR!!!!!! Resolve, you cynical fuckos!

1. Bi-weekly Yoga. YES. With the exception of our Hawaii trip and also, this holiday, bi-weekly yoga has continued Chez Creampuff. IN FACT, for about half the year, I actually did yoga 5 - 6 times a week. This was because our teacher Jane made me start doing this move that made me want to barf every time and I had to start working on it outside of class. Well-played, Jane.

2. Sugar cleanse. SORT OF. One weekend this fall, Katr and I started a two-day cleanse where all we would eat were fruits and vegetables. The cleanse lasted about 8 hours. Then we had a fight and ordered from Pizza Hut.

3. Become a yoga douchebag who doesn't eat sugar. I was just kidding about this last year, but this year I am GOING FOR IT.

4. Pick something and fucking work on it. SORT OF. I fully picked something. But then I failed to work on it.

5. Weekly blogging. Well, this year was better than last year!! So...shut up.

This year:

1. 5X Yoga. This does not mean that I'm going to do a full on yoga practice five times a week. I'M NOT AN ANIMAL. But I will get the mat out at least five times a week in hopes that by practising more often, my cries of "Ugh! Ballsack!" during our yoga lessons will diminish. I think Jane would like it if I quit screaming "Ballsack" during her class.

2. More thoughtful notes. Lately, when I've been thinking of someone fondly, or I've had a dream in which we go snorkeling together in Dubai, I've been sending a note to that person to let them know I've been thinking of them. It's nice and I'd like to do it more consistently. People should know when you're thinking of them fondly. But not fondle-ingly. That you should keep to yourself, unless you're married before the Lord.

3. Get up without making a noise. My mom was telling me the other day about how HER friend was telling her that they should practice getting out of chairs gracefully, because you can really tell how old someone is by how they struggle to get out of a chair. When I get out of a chair, I usually grunt "Awww fuckballs".

My mother is very lithe and fit, so getting out of a chair or off the couch isn't really a problem for her. You know who else this isn't a problem for? Jean Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise. That cat gets out of his captain's chair with great spirit and alacrity EVERY TIME. I would like to be more like Jean Luc Picard. Star Trek TNG is on Netflix now and we're halfway through Season 2.

4. Drink more tea. One of my solstice gifts this year was an amazing box of delicious herbal teas from the new big deal in teas, David's Tea (most boring name ever but the tea...so good). I have a bodum and I am ready to steep ALL YEAR. Today we tried Green & Fruity (very fruity) and Jessie's Tea (hints of coconut and lavender - I didn't mind it but Katr says NO).

5. Weekly blogging. I swear, this will be the year! Weekly blogging, not just blogging when my friend Jeba sends me an accusatory note via Facebook. Honestly, I know you guys don't give a wet shit if I blog more often, but since I'm too lazy to keep a diary, having an up to date blog is the only way I can keep track of the things I am mad about.

That's all I have so far...but the year is young! Are you resolutioning this year? Or do you think resolutions are for the weak?

June 26, 2012

"Oh shit," I thought to myself, as I stood in the kitchen in my yoga pants, unironically blending a green smoothie with kale I picked up at the Main and Terminal Farmer's Market from our Community Supported Agriculture shares, which were grown in the parking lot next to Rogers Arena. "It's happened. I've become a Vancouver douchebag."

I think you all saw it coming before I did. First, there was the gluten-free situation. Then, we became urban gardeners. Last year, we started doing the yoga. But I didn't really feel that I'd succumbed completely to VD until last week, when:

a) I made that smoothie; and

b) I ran errands in public wearing yoga capri pants even though I didn't have my dog with me and actual yoga was not imminent.

June 12, 2012

There was a wealth of interesting TV on at that time, but because my parents were insistent on early bedtimes, my late '70s/early '80s non-cartoon-based TV memories are confined to the following: Three's Company, Little House on the Prairie (until my mom caught us watching the one where Nellie locks Mary in the ice house and decided that it was "too scary" and then we weren't allowed to watch it anymore) and The Love Boat.

The Love Boat was on after school sometimes and I could not get enough. I loved the boat. I loved the clover-shaped pool. I loved the glamorous ladies and the suave gentlemen (but mainly the ladies). I loved the crew - especially Cruise Director Julie McCoy, although I was disappointed by her boyish haircut. GIRLS should have LONG hair.

It's been a loooong time since I've seen The Love Boat - though I could still sing the theme song. So when Katr bought the first two seasons of The Love Boat on DVD, I was pretty excited to rewatch this character-forming television program to see what kernels of wisdom I'd internalized as a child.

Thank fuck there were not too many! HA ha!

After making it all the way through Season One, I feel that The Love Boat teaches the following lessons:

Camel toe is de rigueur. Ditto, moose knuckles.

Falling in love and deciding to get married on a three day cruise is completely normal.

Relentlessly hitting on female passengers is part of Dr. Bricker's job.

Women "fall in love" more easily once you get them drunk and wear them down over several hours.

The best way to kiss someone is to mash your lips up against their lips and then kind of grind your face real hard into their face but NEVER DEAR GOD NEVER OPEN YOUR MOUTH.

Captain Meryl Stubing has daddy issues and class issues. When the two collide - COMEDY GOLD!

Being unfaithful to your wife suddenly makes you waaaay more attractive to her.

There is no racial tension on The Love Boat BUT black people may only hit on other black people.

Leslie Nielson is a real downer on The Love Boat.

Ditto Annette Funicello.

"Gopher" is not Gopher's real name. His real name is "Burl". Either way, he's never getting laid.

"I came on board to find my birth mother. Then I met a nice young man who was travelling with his mother. We totally had the sex and then I find out that his mother is actually my birth mother! Blaaaaaaaaaarg sexwithmybrother blaaaaaaaaaaaaarg! But wait! The nice young man is my birth mother's stepson, so we're not actually related! And when we get married after knowing each other for three days, you'll be my mother AND my mother-in-law! Problems = SOLVED."

Isaac knows that it's not a "three piece suit" unless all three pieces are either denim or leather.

We're just starting Season Two, so I can only imagine what further gems await Katr and I on the lido deck! Maybe we'll see you there, in your sheer bathing suit and lady turban! Isaac! Tequila sunrise!